


Eureka

by foolishgames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishgames/pseuds/foolishgames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how much Dean might pretend otherwise, Sam knows that Dean likes to hear how much he’s loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eureka

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal August 2007, for Schmoopfest.

Dean gets these epiphanies in the shower sometimes. He says that standing under the hot water helps his brain function better, or maybe the lack of clothes frees up his blood flow or something. Sam points out that most of the stupidest decisions Dean has ever made have been while he was naked. Dean finds that difficult to argue with, because while he’s explaining his brilliant shower theory, he is not actually in the shower, and his brilliance is reduced. Or something. Sam’s kind of tuned him out by that point.

In any case, not even Sam can deny the fact that Dean does have occasional flashes of intuition, and that there has been a disturbing trend for this happening when he is naked and wet. So when Sam's weekly ritual of cleaning and sharpening his knives is interrupted by a loud curse from the bathroom, he’s not surprised. He tucks the knife he’s working on back in its place in the tool roll and rolls it up. He puts it aside just as Dean comes bursting through the bathroom door, clutching a towel around his waist. His hair is flattened forward onto his forehead, and his exposed skin is patchy and red with the heat of the shower.

“It’s the cousin,” he says excitedly, dripping over to the table. “The girl from the party. Remember, he said her parents died, that’s why she was living with them.” He hip-checks Sam out of the way and grabs the papers from their current case, dripping all over them.

“Okay, Archimedes,” says Sam, sliding the chair to one side to let Dean work. “You gonna put some pants on?”

Dean grunts and waves at him distractedly. “Later. This can’t wait.”

Sam grins. “It’s waited for three days now, Dean. The pattern of killings indicates there’s not gonna be another incident for at least a week.”

“Still.” Dean doesn’t even look up, just cocks his hip to rest against the table. He releases the towel protecting his modesty, and it sags, held up only where it’s trapped between his skin and the edge of the table.

Just above the edge of the worn terrycloth, he tastes like clear water and clean skin. A shiver goes through Dean when Sam puts his mouth there. “It can wait,” says Sam to the small of Dean’s back. “Can’t it?”

Dean’s hands have stilled, making the newspaper clippings and computer printouts wet, tearing in his grip. “For me to put pants on?” he asks steadily.

Sam smiles into the curve of Dean’s spine and tugs at him gently, pulling him away from the table just enough for the towel to fall. “Do you want to put pants on?” He rubs his face against Dean’s damp, bare skin.

Dean makes a soft noise and turns so that Sam is suddenly staring at his navel. Dean cradles Sam's jaw, tips his face up. “Tease,” he accuses gently, rubbing his thumb over Sam’s mouth. Sam bites it.

“Only a tease if I don’t deliver,” he says. “Unless you’d rather put your pants on and go chase down this lead.”

Dean tugs him to his feet. “I’d have to put a shirt on, too?” he asks plaintively, crowding up against Sam and rolling his hips. Sam’s breath catches as he feels Dean’s hands slip under his shirt, pulling him closer.

“And shoes,” he says. “And probably a jacket, too, it’s pretty cold out.” He bends and catches Dean’s earlobe between his teeth.

Dean sighs. “Maybe later,” he says and turns his head.

Their mouths come together, easy and familiar, and Sam murmurs, “I love you,” just as their lips meet.

Dean turns his face aside with a bark of laughter. “Oh, you girl,” he says gleefully, but sobers at the expression on Sam’s face. “You don’t have to say it, Sammy.” He looks vaguely uncomfortable.

Sam stares for a moment, torn between Dean naked mmm hello sex now and Holy Christ my brother has the crappiest self-esteem of any person I have ever met.

Because Dean, despite being good-looking enough to turn heads everywhere they go, a fucking amazing hunter, and smarter than he ever pretends to be, tends to shy away whenever Sam tries to tell him how much Dean means to him. It’s annoying, and for Sam, kind of sad. Because he has this sneaking suspicion that Dean thinks little enough about himself that he honestly doesn’t believe it when Sam says that sort of thing.

Dean pokes him. “Dude. You got me naked. I demand sex.”

He pulls Sam towards the bed, tugging insistently even when Sam nearly trips over his sweatpants as he tries to walk and strip at the same time. They finally tumble together onto the bed, Sam shoving at Dean until he slides farther up on the mattress, settling back against the headboard.

Sam pulls away for a moment to grab the lube and condoms from the table beside the TV (Dean’s sexual appetite leads to sex in some unexpected places). By the time he turns back around, Dean has started without him, lying back against the flat motel pillows and jacking himself slowly, watching Sam with a little smirk.

“Fucker,” mutters Sam and flops down, deliberately driving most of his weight onto Dean’s belly. Dean yelps and smacks him. He starts to laugh when Sam grabs hold of him and hugs him hard, burying his face in Dean’s neck and grinning.

Dean’s still laughing when Sam takes his legs and hitches them over his broad shoulders, presses a slick finger inside him, careful but firm. His answering moan is choked and throaty, sliding back into a gasping laugh when Sam crooks his finger and turns his head to mouth at Dean’s thigh. “Fucking – tickles,” he manages, and, “Oh, fuck, Sammy. Do that – like that. Yeah.”

Sam takes his time, using his fingers and adding more lube. He keeps sucking marks into Dean’s thighs while he works him, opening him up until Dean’s arching up restlessly, feet slipping on the bedspread while he makes incoherent little noises and grabs at the air.

“Ready?” he asks into the crease of Dean’s thigh, and laughs when Dean just kind of flails at him. Sam pulls away long enough to deal with the condom, then he’s back, cradled between Dean’s legs, looking down into Dean’s sleepily smiling face.

Something in Sam's expression must give him away, because Dean blinks and looks slightly more alert. “Oh, God. You’re about to say it again, aren’t you?”

Sam pinches his side. “Problem?” He shifts his hips and aligns himself, pressing against the ring of muscle and feeling it give a little.

Dean makes a soft noise. “You don’t have to – oh.” He arches his back and opens up, gasping.

“Love you,” murmurs Sam, and moves again, working himself deeper.

“Nngh,” replies Dean. His muscles clench and flutter, and Sam has to bite his lip and try desperately not to come from the feel, the sight of Dean spread out underneath him. He drops his head, pressing his cheek against Dean’s damp, sweaty neck.

“Jesus,” Dean says breathlessly. “Would you move, Sam? You’re killing me here.” He shifts impatiently, and Sam gasps at the sensation, sinking deeper inside that slick heat.

“Yeah,” Sam says. ”Fuck yeah. Feels so good.” He props himself up on his elbows and starts to move: slow, dragging thrusts, the kind that make Dean whine and whimper, beg for it harder, faster.

Dean turns his head, seeking blindly, and their mouths crash together, messy and uncontrolled. Sam can’t quite concentrate on the kiss, he's too caught up in the sensation of being inside Dean, hot and tight and good, slick friction as they move. He can focus only on that, and the insistent pressure of Dean’s erection trapped between them, hot and leaking against his belly.

Dean’s lifting his whole lower body into Sam’s thrusts now, his heels digging into the backs of Sam’s thighs for extra leverage as he rolls his hips up, grunting with the effort. Their mouths break apart, and Sam bites mindlessly at Dean’s jaw, panting against his skin and listening to the helpless, beautiful noises Dean’s making. He shifts position to get a hand between them, jerking Dean hard and clumsy as he feels his own orgasm build in the base of his spine.

“Come on,” he says, and Dean makes this broken noise, digging his fingers hard into Sam’s shoulders. “Come on,” says Sam more firmly, sliding his hand under Dean’s ass and hitching him up. “So good, Dean, fucking amazing, love you so much,” and Dean comes just like that, with his head turned away and blood rushing to his cheeks. He clenches hard around Sam’s cock, still buried deep inside him.

And that’s it for Sam, too, as if Dean’s release has was the catalyst he needed. Sam's thrusts grow ragged, desperate, and then he’s mumbling something even he can't understand as the world goes white.

He wakes to Dean wrapped around him, stroking his hair. The adrenaline is still buzzing through his veins, and the all-over sticky, sweaty feel of his body lets him know he’s only been out for a few minutes. Long enough for Dean to get comfortable holding him.

He sighs and rubs his head against Dean’s shoulder, letting his brother know he’s awake. As expected, Dean’s hands still and settle on his head and neck, and Sam smiles a little. “Okay?” he asks, letting his own hands do a little wandering.

Dean snorts softly. “I think we’ve already established that I’m not a girl, Sammy.”

Sam snickers, turning his head so he can mouth gently at the curve of Dean’s collarbone. “You love it.”

Dean pinches him. “Shut it, emo girl.”

“You just came your brains out when I said I loved you.” He lifts up and props his cheek on one hand. Dean’s blushing again.

“I did not,” he sputters. “I – you said it just when – it wasn’t.” He shuts his mouth tightly and glares.

Sam kisses the tip of his nose. “Okay. You are a manly, manly man, who doesn’t talk about emotions or admit to any kind of connection deeper than casual acquaintance.” Dean’s eyes narrow. Sam runs his tongue along the stubble on Dean’s jaw. “You drive a big, manly car and drink manly American beer and have lots of very manly guns.”

Dean’s mouth is twitching. “Don’t you dare. Don’t say it, Sam.”

Sam grins, bright and joyous. “And you take it up the ass like a real man, Dean.”

Dean shoves him, laughing. “You ass.”

Sam just leans closer, grappling, trying to pin Dean’s hands down. “Your ass.” He finally gets Dean pinned – he’s not exactly struggling against it – and straddles him. “I love you,” he announces.

“Whatever,” says Dean, grinning.


End file.
